


lay back and catch the light

by jupitired



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Theatre, M/M, Nico-centric, do i give a shit? no, do i project copiously? yes, i apologise in advance, nico isn't paid enough for this and i relate, to make up for it there is fluff so it's a fair bargain i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-15 11:49:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13030443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jupitired/pseuds/jupitired
Summary: For the record, Nico wants to state that he has no idea how exactly he came to be here.Or — Will, Nico, and a play that doesn't show up as much as it should.





	lay back and catch the light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bazzledazzlewriting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bazzledazzlewriting/gifts).



> hello! if you are candy, i hope you enjoy this and i hope it meets your expectations for a gift! if you are not, i still hope you enjoy this!  
> • note: the title is from harden the paint by foster the people which is an honest-to-god banger.  
> • note the second: the play they're doing is philadelphia, here i come! by brian friel because i was doing it for literature when i started this and then i realised that the main character's relationship with his dad paralleled nico and hades' so the more you know. but it is brilliant so if you can read it / see it i wholeheartedly recommend it!  
> • note the third: when i started writing this, i was aiming for like, a respectable 8-10k. clearly, it, uh, ran away from me.  
> • note the fourth: i tried to stick to american spelling all the way through for the sake of authenticity but if any slipped through, i apologise. as you can see, i use british spelling for everything else.  
> • note the fifth: happy holidays, everyone! i hope you spend it with good company and good food!
> 
> catch me on tumblr [@honeyhusk](https://honeyhusk.tumblr.com)!

For the record, Nico wants to state that he has no idea how exactly he came to be here. Here being the one of the more modest audition halls in the Humanities building. At some point, he should really start investigating Piper’s eerie persuasion skills because this is getting too close to witchcraft for his comfort. It comes in handy when she’s fighting assholes but it was getting a little inconvenient with the number of times he’d been duped.

But back to the situation at hand. 

Nico is on the verge of making a decision to hightail it out of the badly-lit mini-theatre when a dreary voice calls out his name, tinged with just a bit of dry amusement. Whoever it is, they’re clearly — _familiar_ — with his work. He supposes there’s nothing to do but audition then. 

As he walks to the podium, he swiftly flips the script open to the page with the monologue he’s doing, marked by the bend in the spine where he’d fretted over it for hours on end the previous night. Sweat is already beading at the nape of his neck where a few limp strands have escaped from the hasty bun he’d made that morning and his heart is giving marching band drummers a run for their money so he’s feeling fairly optimistic about this whole affair. 

Nico lets his knees hit the wooden floor and slumps as the scene requires him to, lets his voice go soft and a little shaky with discontent, and begins, “When you’re curled up in your wee cot, Screwballs, do you dream?” He’s pored over this bit so many times that the script in his hand is more for moral support than any practical use.

He thanks the Ambiguous Deity Up There for the trip he’d taken to Dublin as a child. Accents are nowhere near his forte, often clunky and foreign in his mouth, but this one he  can mostly manage without stumbling over the syllables.

It’s over much faster than he had anticipated and he notes he hadn’t glanced at the script at all. In the aftermath of the adrenaline that had quashed his anxiety and carried him through, Nico has no recollection of what he actually did or said, but he must have done something right because the director — _Reyna_ , his mind supplies helpfully — is looking at him with just a hint of a smile, and a pleased warmth spread through his chest.

Realising that there are other people who also want to audition, he hurries off the stage, narrowly avoiding injury via tripping. He sticks around for another ten minutes partly out of misplaced manners and partly out of genuine interest, but neither lasts long enough to keep him there until the end. 

It’s the middle of class for most people, so the quiet of the hallway is a welcome relief. He fiddles with his phone for a minute before remembering that Percy and Jason both have some science-y class together. Figuring that Hazel will be in the library now, he slips a beanie over his head, and heads to out to brave the strong gales. 

Nico actually doesn’t mind the cold wind — on the contrary, he really likes it. But between forgetting his gloves in as of yet unknown crevice of his room and his poor blood flow, he doesn’t stand a chance of being able to feel his fingers in this weather. Needless to say, it’s not the most pleasant sensation.

When he’s close enough, he can see Hazel’s golden hair peeking through the glass panes in the front of the library building and picks up his pace for the home stretch. The library’s warmth seems to melt his body from the bones out — in a good way. He feels a little cat-like, floppy, and any resolve he’d had to be productive is quickly discarded.

Hazel seems to catch sight of him snuggling into his coat to relish the heat and hides a fond grin behind thermos in her hands. “Your gloves are behind your bedside table,” she says in lieu of an actual greeting. “Or they were and then I very kindly put them on the kitchen counter for you.” 

“Motherfucker,” he says conversationally. When he and Hazel had first become siblings, he had tried to minimise his swearing, but at one point he found out that she could out-swear him in two languages and well, he’s a lot less careful these days.

“Motherfucker, indeed,” Hazel agrees, nodding. “Also, this is the part where you say ‘thank you, o gracious sister.’”

“Thanks.”

“It’ll do for now.” She pauses a very deliberate pause, starts walking to her table, then says, “So I heard that you went in for an audition today. How did that go?”

He shrugs, which is not really an answer. “It was fine, I think. I don’t know. No catastrophes, but also no miracles.”

“Okay,” Hazel replies and that’s that. And that’s — nice. At first, it took him a while to realize that Hazel didn't feel the need to dissect what he said or ask any follow-up questions which had been the standard fare for him when she came along, since he had been going through a laundry list of therapists. It definitely put her in his good books.

He gently bumps his hip into hers and when she looks up at him, he knows she resisting the urge to fluff up his hair, and pointedly takes a long step away from her. She pantomimes reaching across a great rift, her arms stretching towards him, and he barks out a surprised laugh, falling into step with her again.

He ends up spending the next hour watching Hazel working intently with his head pillowed on his arms in pseudo-slumber, resisting the urge to be lulled to sleep by the dormant rumble of the heaters in the library.

Coming to, Nico checks the time, and bolts awake. “Fuck,” he whispers, choosing to ignore Hazel’s muffled giggle for the time being. He can make it in time for his next class. Probably. Hopefully, the Ambiguous Deity Up There is still feeling generous towards him.

 

* * *

 

Nico has forgotten about the whole auditioning thing until a few days later when Percy suddenly pops out of thin air and claps him on the back while he’s walking to the dining hall. He stumbles a little and thinks, _It’s nine AM. What have I done now?_

“You might as well thank Piper now,” Jason says with a grin, which is only slightly less annoying and still gives him no information about what’s going on. “She’s going to be insufferable if you don’t.”

“What?” Nico asks. His voice is so flat and dead than even _he_ pities himself a little.

“Dude, you haven’t made a joke about the word insufferable being too hard for a science major,” Percy observes. “Are you okay?”

“I’m currently running on caffeine and also spite,” Nico says. “Does that answer your question?”

“Oh. Nervous about the results?” Jason guesses, like he holds all the answers to all the questions in the world, which he must because Nico still has no idea what’s going on.

“What,” Nico says again, except it’s not exactly a question. “I was working on an essay for the asshole professor who runs my ten AM class today, ergo the spite and caffeine. What are you talking about?”

Percy and Jason halt in the tracks and turn to look at each other, bursting into raucous laughter in that weird synchronised double-act that they have sometimes since they’ve started dating. Nico suspects that he’s being pranked.

“Oh, man,” Percy sighs, pretending to wipe away tears. “Uh, the play that Piper convinced you to audition for? That ring any bells?”

“Oh.” Nico is disappointed. He’d hoped for a conspiracy theory or something equally outrageous. This is fairly mundane as far as Percy and Jason go. “So they posted the results?”

“Yeah, you got the part, buddy,” Jason says, then by virtue of being taller than him, gets away with ruffling his hair. Nico does his best to death glare him into submission but Jason just gives him a shit-eating grin, unrepentant.

When glaring proves futile, Nico just gives Jason a solid punch in the arm, heaves a breath, and says, “I should probably thank Piper, though.”

“Yeah,” Jason agrees.

They’re inside the building and just a corner away from the dining hall when Percy pulls Nico towards the bulletin board that you find near the entrance of every building on campus. Percy takes a moment to scan the board before letting out a small “ha!” of victory under his breath and pointing to a Nico’s name, printed boldly on a fluorescent green paper. He looks so earnestly proud that Nico can’t help grinning back at him, if only a little less enthusiastically.

Nico reads through the paper — his understudy is someone named Ethan Nakamura. He thinks he might have been in his Shakespeare class last year. More importantly is the statement in all caps is the statement _REHEARSALS START TUESDAY, 4 PM_. Oh well, there go his Tuesday  afternoons.

When Nico makes his way to their usual table for breakfast, Piper is there waiting with an unstudied smirk which is perhaps the least surprising thing about this morning so far. Nico makes a show of saluting Piper as thanks which only serves to intensify the smugness. But it soon relaxes into her usual friendly smile when she says, “Nice one, kiddo.”

Nico narrows his eyes at her. “I am all of three months younger than you. I am _four inches_ taller than you, Piper,” he points out. “Please, Piper.”

She tuts mockingly. “Respect your elders, child,” she reprimands, which, he had that coming by choosing to engage. “Anyway, Drew is in charge of costumes on the play so make sure you’re extra annoying.”

“Goes against my values of being nice to the crew always but okay.”

“I thought you guys were friends now?” Jason asks as he takes a seat and hands Nico a breakfast burrito and a cup of coffee.

Piper shrugs in a reply which could translate to anything from _sort of_ to _she stole the last of my rocky road ice cream last night and is forever dead to me_. Apparently, relationships between sorority sisters are very complex, according to Piper.

Percy takes it in stride and says to the table at large, “Isn’t Reyna directing it?”

“Yeah,” Nico confirms through a mouthful of burrito. “I feel like I’ve heard of her before. Who is she?”

“She’s in Annabeth’s baseball team and Annabeth’s had a crush on her since like day one,” Percy answers. “I’m totally in favour of it but I’m also a little terrified.”

Jason nods in agreement at the last statement and Nico thinks he has an inkling of why. They would be like the dictionary definition of a power couple. “Mmm sounds familiar.”

“Where is Annabeth on this fine morning anyway?” Piper asks.

“Sleeping, I think,” Percy says after considering it for a moment. “She and Leo were working on this project until like two in the morning.”

“Oh yeah, the noise was fun,” Jason says dryly, who has the supreme pleasure of being on the same floor as Annabeth.

Things quiet down while everyone focuses on eating. Piper rushes ten minutes later because she’d forgotten her laser pointer for her presentation on the Prison-Industrial Complex. Jason gives her two  sunny thumbs up before she goes which only reinforces his role as the Mom Friend in Nico’s head.

He and Percy try to inconspicuously make an early exit by saying that Percy needs to return a book to the library on the far side of campus which Nico figures means that they want to possibly make out before Jason’s morning class because Percy never goes to that library because the librarian there, Mrs. Dodds, is his “mortal enemy.” Nico, being an excellent friend, graciously lets it slide.

He finishes his breakfast burrito and decides he might as well take a leisurely walk to his lecture and get there early. He might even get the hidden seat in the back with the excellent vantage point before someone else does.

 

* * *

 

If there was a participation grade in this whole play thing, Nico wouldn’t be scoring too high. He bursts into the auditorium with heaving breath, having run all the way from his dorm. Everyone pauses; most people turn to look at him with various degrees of distaste; a few select others still but choose to pointedly ignore his entrance. He appreciates that. 

“Uh, I was taking a — um, sorry, I forgot.” He rubs the back of his neck and practically feels it burning up, either from the running or everyone’s unsubtle gaze on him. Here’s the thing: Nico isn’t _that_ invested in the play, but punctuality is important to him, because otherwise he gets anxious and a little twitchy, so not being late works out fine in everyone’s favour.

Reyna’s eyes are still a little narrowed but her words are barely harsh. “You’re ten minutes late, so we haven’t gotten to doing anything yet,” she says, and at that point, everyone in the room becomes more neutral as though they were waiting for Reyna’s lead. “As I was saying earlier, we’re just going to read through it today, just to get a feel for the narrative.”

Nico nods, which is the most he can do. He’s still vibrating out of his skin a little. This is why he doesn’t exercise. The audience to his spectacle then scatter to their respective positions. Most people sit down either because they’re understudies, crew, or don’t come in until later in the play.

Even though his entrance isn’t until a few minutes into the play, he’s instructed by a sickly blond guy who must be the assistant director to be onstage from the beginning. He gives him a quick salute and turns toward the stage. While everyone is fussing with a few last minute details before they begin, Nico scans his castmates. He thinks he might’ve seen the guy playing Public Gar at one of Annabeth’s softball game, but he doesn’t really recognise anyone else.

Reyna’s firm and loud tone cuts through as she says, “Okay, Lou Ellen, start from the top.” She starts with Madge’s first line and Public (or Chris, Nico quickly learns his name is) joins in seamlessly. They’re both great — boisterous and bright, with an undertone of melancholy — and Nico is enjoying it. He almost forgets his line after Chris says, “It’s all over.”

Nico slouches where he’s mostly concealed off the side of the stage, then follows up with, “And it’s all about to begin. It’s all over.”

He soon falls into rhythm and pace of the play, and slips into Private’s character like a suit. When he’d first seen the play in Dublin, he’d quickly become enamoured with the story and how Gar had been split into two: the unfailingly optimistic public persona and the slightly manic brooding shadow. It’s been a while but the play is familiar enough that by the time they decide to take a break after the first episode, he’s barely felt the passage of time.

Nico grabs a water bottle, and sits down at the lip of the stage. The stage isn’t all that high but it’s enough that he can dangle his feet and swing them back and forth. He downs half the bottle in a single swallow and wipes his mouth before Reyna calls them all back.

When they get to the monologue he’d used in his audition, he doesn’t kneel but stands slumped over and acts it out with the same amount of feeling as he did before. Theatre demanded that you draw out emotion every time that you did it, and it was exhausting but it was incredibly satisfying, knowing that someone was getting the same heart-wrenching sensation as you.

The lights overhead were shining straight down on him and the fluorescent yellow was doing nothing for him in terms of nerves. He stands still for as long as he can before he shifts away, closer to the back-left corner of the stage, slinking out and pacing out around whenever he had a line which is pretty much all throughout.

When they’re finished with the readthrough, there’s a palpable sense of lethargy and relief in the auditorium. A chorus of cracking bones sounds as everyone got up and stretches. Nico has just slung his backpack over his shoulder when Reyna appears beside him.

“Good job today,” she says, with a neutral expression. She’s impersonal but somehow incredibly involved. Nico is impressed. “I have to say I was a little surprised when I saw your name. I think we had two or three classes and I barely heard a squeak from you. Never took you for a dramatist.”

“Closet case,” Nico replies wryly, which draws a rough laugh out of her.

“Anyway, everyone’s a little rusty — especially with the accent — and still a little awkward but with enough practices we should have it in the bag,” Reyna offers, which is still a pretty nice thing and not untrue. It hasn’t been long enough for them to forget Nico tripping over the chair SB’s actor was sitting in.

“Yeah, you got it. I’ll see you next Tuesday, I guess.”

“I hope you’ll be on time then,” she says, to which gives a small smile in farewell and turns on his feet towards the door where people are steadily streaming out.

Just as he’s about to walk out, he catches sight of a guy staring at him with annoyance. He smooths his face out but it’s too late: Nico’s already caught him. He’s probably mad about Nico being late, which Nico would usually care, but he’s too tired. Instead, Nico shrugs and taps two fingers against his cheekbone in a mocking salute and exits, already thinking about what he’s going to have for dinner.

 

* * *

 

Nico loves art, loves seeing the processes coming together to create it. Everything slowly but surely crawling into place. They slowly memorize their lines and stop tripping over chairs and get fittings for costumes. A lot was rapidly change over the course of each rehearsal. One thing, however, was not. 

Mr Sunshine (as he’d dubbed the tan blond who’d glared at him in that first rehearsal) has made it a habit to bid Nico goodbye with a righteous glare, and doesn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon. They’re nearly a month into practices so it can’t possibly be his tardiness on the first day because… No, Nico’s concluded that it must be something else.

Contrary to popular belief, Nico wasn’t always the occasionally vocal mime that he is today. In fact, he had a pretty big mouth before his sister had died, so he knows how to tell when someone’s annoyed with you. That’s a skill he still has. But it’s a little frustrating when you can’t figure out why.

At the tail end of the sixth rehearsal, he’s just discretely scanning the room like he does before leaving every time and there’s Mr. Sunshine right in place like he’s performing his own mini-play and Nico’s nerves sort of — snap. Because he’s been spending a ridiculous amount of time puzzling over what he could have to aggravate this guy so much instead of just asking him what his problem is since he’s not, you know, an actual mime.

Nico draws in a deep breath, steels his nerves and _fucking anxiety,_ and walks up to Mr Sunshine who has turned to some equipment, tapping his shoulder to get his attention. Mr Sunshine wheels back around with a smile that actually fits the moniker Nico has given him, but as soon as he realizes who it is exactly, the smile on his face falls flat and his lips purse together almost like he’s trying to hold himself back from saying something.

“Did I, uh, do something to you?” Nico asks, his voice cracking halfway through. This is a vaguely cute boy who seems to hate him, his voice cracked, and he would like to crawl into the deepest, darkest crevice of the Earth.

Mr Sunshine raises his eyebrows as far up as they’ll and crosses his arms. “Are you messing with me,” he say in a deadpan, which isn’t really an answer.

“No?”

He seems even more chagrined by this. Nico is still very confused and a little afraid. “You like, waved at me after the first practice,” he fumes. “You knew what you were doing.”

“I waved because I couldn’t give a shit,” Nico shoots back. He’s fighting the very strong temptation to throw his hands up. “What exactly was I doing?”

“You keep running away from the overhead lighting!”

In Nico’s humble opinion, Mr Sunshine is not looking very sunshine-y at the moment. Also — “what?”

“Don’t _what_ me! You keep moving away from the lighting so then I have to move it around so many times I’m pretty sure it counts as exercise at this point.”

Which — that does sound sort of familiar. “Oh,” Nico says. That seems to activate incredible reserves of smugness, decidedly making the guy less cute. It’s also eerily reminiscent of Piper.

“Uh-huh.”

“No, I — I wasn’t doing it _on purpose_ ,” Nico stammers; he should not be stammering. He puts on his best calm acting voice and continues, “It makes sort of nervous and sweaty and uh, extra anxious so I guess I’ve been evading it. Um, why didn’t you say anything?”

As Nico speaks, Mr Sunshine sort of deflates? His pursed lips don’t look very antagonistic anymore. With the pale tinge of pink on his cheeks, Nico would almost call him sheepish.

“That’s a good question,” Mr Sunshine says, a faint trail of awkward laughter following the statement. Apparently, the guy contains multitudes.

“You sort of looked like an asshole?” he tries, waving an expansive hand in Nico’s general direction. Right. He seems to grasp at what Nico is thinking because he quickly backtracks, “Not that it’s an excuse or anything!”

“And here I thought I was bad with people,” Nico says dryly in an attempt to move away from the guy’s excuses. Not that he’s off the hook but Nico’s pretty sure he has enough anxiety to tide both of them over.

“Sorry,” he winces, then holds a hand out. “I’m Will.”

“Nico,” he says, cautiously accepting Will’s hand. He would have to get used to the new name. It seems strangely fitting for the guy who looks like he can give Jason a run for his money when it comes to being the poster child for the American College Experience. He lacks that obnoxious cockiness though.

“Oh yeah, I know. You’re kind playing one of the lead roles in the play,” Will says. “Reyna only yells your name out 300 times per practice.”

“Would you look at that? He’s got a setting that isn’t irritated as hell.” Nico isn’t feeling too bad about that because he _was_ worrying himself over for a good month and a half. He’s not willing to let it die quite yet.

“Sorry,” he says again. “Is there any way I can make it up to you?”

“Find a way to light the auditorium without getting a fluorescent yellow beam to laser focus on my head?” Nico tries.

Will gives him an apologetic smile and spreads his hands in a _what-can-you-do-_ type gesture. “Any other requests?”

“I’ll let you know if I think of something,” Nico laughs.

“Wait, uh, let me give you my number if you come up with anything.”

No sooner than Nico has said, “Alright,” Will hands him a paper with a series of digits on it. “See you next week,” Nico says and as a tribute to their first meeting, taps two fingers to his temple.

“Sure,” Will replies, with the level of enthusiasm he  must give everyone he doesn’t hate. Nico is discovering new things all the time.

With a final wave, Nico exits the auditorium and heads towards the dining hall. It’s been steadily getting colder, with the sun setting earlier each day, and it’s one of the coldest days yet. The sky is at the point where all the pinks and oranges and warm-toned hues have fled but it’s still too close to indigo to be true night. The wind picks up when he’s maybe a hundred yards away from the dining hall, but he’s too tired to force his legs to walk faster so he just pulls his beanie a little more snugly around his ears, pulls his coat tighter, and hopes for the best.

The dining hall is warm though Nico knows it’s more because of the sheer number of people in there rather than any substantial efforts on the university’s part to provide sufficient heating. Most of the populace is people who, like him, are looking for food, but there’s a chunk of people taking advantage of the hot drinks machine, with nothing but mugs cupped between their palms.

After grabbing some pleasantly unsuspicious spaghetti and garlic bread, he sets about finding everyone. He knows they’re there because Percy had texted him maybe half an hour ago. It takes a little neck-craning but he eventually spots his friends. He makes his way to them and receives a hero’s worth of warm welcoming. He can never decide whether it’s gratifying, endearing, or downright embarrassing.  He’s in a good mood though so he’s inclined to go for endearing.

“How was rehearsal?” Jason asks between slurps of soup from the other end of table. It’s a little bit of a squeeze and Nico’s ass is partly sitting on air since the table is technically meant for six people with room to spread a little and there are eight of them, including Jason and Frank.

Sometimes, Nico forgets that Jason isn’t actually put together all the time, and then there are moments like this which Nico is immensely grateful for.

“It went well. Oh, wait, you’ll never guess,” Nico adds. “You know the guy I told you has it out for me?”

There’s a general hum of agreement. Leo pipes up, “You mean the guy you secretly have the hots for?”

“No,” Nico says curtly. “I don’t remember secretly having the hots for anyone.”

“Are you sure?” Leo drawls out in a twang that’s very Texan. When Nico only stares back in silent agony, Leo tilts his head in mock apology and says, “Alright, alright! My bad. Maybe tone down the death glare now, Emo McGoth.”

“Anyway, turns out he’s the guy he does the lighting and I kept moving out of it,” Nico says. “Also, as it turns out, he doesn’t have a permanent stick up his ass.”

Leo waggles his eyebrows at that which Nico promptly ignores, but Hazel warmly says, “That’s great, Nico,” which he returns with a smile.

Having said his piece, Nico digs into his food, and lets the others take over the conversation. Percy has had another incident with Mrs Dodds involving the printer and a paper jam. Annabeth and Leo are almost done with the bridge they’re making for their project and they want Hazel’s help in decorating. Piper made two frat bros from the fraternity across the street “quiver in their soccer cleats” (Leo’s words). Everything seemed to be going as normally as it could.

“So when are you guys leaving for Christmas?” Percy asks the table at large when the next lull in conversation comes.

Nico has to stop himself from tensing. It’s a normal question — Christmas is in three weeks and so most of them would be going home, or going _somewhere_. Aside from Percy, who had dragged Jason along with him to meet his mother, none of them had bothered to go home for Thanksgiving. Nico had just been conveniently caught up in his annual routine of distancing himself from his father as the new year creeps closer.

Everyone rattles off dates, aside from Leo who says he’s going back to Los Angeles with Piper. “We’re heading out on the 22nd,” Hazel says smoothly at his right. He must have not been as subtle as he thought, then again, they are pressed side to side. He nudges her shoulder with his in a silent show of the gratitude.

When they’re done eating, Nico and Percy are tasked with getting everyone drinks to warm them up. After the group votes on hot chocolate for everyone to avoid confusion and also sleeplessness (this is directed at Annabeth who dozed for a good five minutes at the table the previous morning because she’d drunk three cups of coffee to cram for a test), Percy and Nico head to the drink table. There’s a minor struggle to get there, but soon enough, they’re setting up cups and containers. Percy grabs a handful of sugar packets and marshmallows for good measure.

“So, you haven’t booked your flight, have you?” Percy asks conversationally. Nico is so startled to the point where a little hot chocolate sloshes out of the cup he’s holding. He’d partly forgotten that Percy is pretty observant, partly hoped he would let it slide if he’d noticed. But no, Percy’s a good friend like that.

Nico sighs. “It sort of slipped my mind,” he says.

It must come out more irate than he’d intended because Percy says, “I didn’t mean anything by it, just, you know, take care of yourself. I know you’re not looking forward to the holidays.”

“Yeah, I know,” Nico replies. His bones suddenly feels like they’ve all got their own centers of gravity, and he wants to lie down for a while or forever.

Percy places a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Come on. The hot chocolate will make you feel better.”

They finish up at the table and worm their way through the dining hall, precariously balancing the drinks container. If anyone notices that Nico’s face has gone blank — _they probably did_ , Nico thinks — they carefully don’t bring it up and reserve their energy for the hot chocolate.

When Nico gets to his room that night, he’s more grateful than ever for the lack of roommates. He gets into his pyjamas and lays in bed. Staring at the dark unlit ceiling of his room and allows himself a long moment of aching and then a long moment of longing, before turning on his side and trying to get some sleep.

 

* * *

 

With the rapidly-approaching holidays now in the forefront of Nico’s mind, the next week feels a little sideways. Between his erratic sleeping schedule, finals looming around the corner, and his volatile moods which peak at neutral good, Nico sort of can’t wait for the year to be over. 

He looks longingly at the open draft of his latest essay for class and if he’s proactively looking forward to doing his essay, then surely he’s hit rock-bottom. Sighing, he loosens his hair from the lazy top-knot he’s had his in for the past few hours so he can pull at hat over it, puts on his coat and gloves, and heads to rehearsal, figuring he’ll be at least a little early.

It’s not that Nico doesn’t want to go to rehearsal — he _does_ , it’s a welcome reprieve from academia and it’s fun and it’s one of his favourite plays, but it requires so much energy and his reserves are on the low side these days, so he’s a little hesitant.

As soon as he walks into the auditorium, Will bounds to him with a cheery smile. Nico has to admire that kind of enthusiasm when a chunk of the room has the same muted mien as him.

“Hey!” Will greets him and Nico wishes he were more present so he could appreciate it more. “I have a surprise for you!"

“What?” Nico asks. Will’s expression cracks just a little so Nico gets his shit together as best as he can and tries again. “Hi, uh, what is it?”

“Oh! Well, I’m gonna need you to stand on the stage and wait a little,” Will says, gusto fully restored.

Nico scans the auditorium for Reyna. She’s not here or she’s hiding, so there’s no telling whether or not she knows what’s going on. It involves a stage though, which means it’s probably public. “How much humiliation am I going to suffer?” Nico says hesitantly.

Will laughs and reassures him that Nico’s humiliation is far from the objective of what he’s doing, then gives him a gentle shove towards the stage. Nico glances back at him one last time with furrowed brows before complying.

The stage is still mostly dark so Nico has to be careful with making his way to the middle. He considers standing up but settles on plopping down, cross-legged and fiddling the sleeve of his coat. He’s almost about to shout out to Will about what exactly he’s doing when the he’s bathed in white light.

Scrambling to stand up and shielding his eyes because it’s still pretty goddamn bright, he peers into the wings and catches sight of Will waving down at him. “What the hell are you doing?” Nico shouts out, half-laughing.

Nico can sort of make out Will yelling back, “You know how you said the yellow lights made you uncomfortable and stuff?”, then gives a loud affirmative. Will continues, “Well, I found these white lights! They’re not as hot or fluorescent and they're less concentrated if that makes sense. And they’re more economic in the long run!”

It’s a good thing that the wings are so far from where Nico’s standing, Nico muses, so Will can’t see him staring dumbly at him. He tries to figure out what to say but everything comes up short. It’s so considerate that it makes a semi-hysterical giggle burst out from Nico’s mouth.

His various sources of anxiety have always been mostly an inconvenience to overcome. Not many people really bother with accommodating him, which is fine, but this is going the extra mile. It’s closer to a marathon. Nico wonders how long it took Will to find this solution and if he had to spend any of his money on it.

He hears the muffled thumps of Will’s feet on the wood floor of the auditorium before he emerges from the right side of the stage. Will is silent, and his mouth is sliding between varying degrees of smiling as if he isn’t sure how he should feel exactly. Nico manages a small grin, and that seems to be enough for Will, whose grin goes wide and thousand-watt bright, like he was the one lighting up the stage instead.

“So did it work?” Will asks.

“I haven’t tried,” Nico says, sheepish. “Wait.” He stands still and tries to concentrate on how the light feels on his back. It still has a noticeable presence but that’s to be expected. He hadn’t realised the enormity of the difference though. He’s not being set on fire every time he wants to stand on stage. Nico give another quiet laugh and, horrified, hopes that Will hasn’t heard that, but any hopes of that nature are dashes when Will looks at him with delight as though someone had told him finals were cancelled. Why he’s so happy about it is beyond Nico but he’s grateful all the same.

“Thank you,” Nico says. He sounds just the tiniest bit out of breath. “That’s — that’s probably one of the most considerate things anyone has ever done for me. I guess you don’t owe me one anymore.”

“You’re welcome,” Will chirps. His smile is beaming and he’s animated to the point where he’s almost swinging back and forth. Nico wonders if that’s normal for him or if he becomes more lively and zealous every time he does something nice for someone. _Nice people_ , Nico sighs internally.

When Nico looks out at the stage, Reyna and a few others have been watching the scene unfold for god knows how long. So much for no humiliation, Nico thinks as his cheeks turn ruddy with color. Almost as though she knows what  he’s thinking, Reyna gives him a small satisfied smile.

“Alright, everyone, now that we’re done with that touching scene” — and a chorus of  _aw_ ’s goes out from everyone which, _fuck theatre kids_ , Nico thinks, partly fond and partly murderous — “let’s actually get shit done,” Reyna says, clapping her hands together to capture the attention of those in the far corners of the auditorium.

After almost two months, everyone pretty much knows where to go and what to do. In a few minutes, everything is set up, Reyna is seated in the front row, and they’re all in position on the stage.

“From the top,” Reyna calls out, and Lou Ellen takes over as Madge, smooth as water, and as practice goes on, Nico can feel the lights warm on his back, but for all the right reasons.

When they’re done, Reyna makes a grand sweeping motion with her arms, imploring them to gather round her. This go-round of Episode 1 has been especially smooth, all of them following the same beat, errors so minor and few that they were negligible.

They form a circle around Reyna, heads bent in with a giddy feeling of conspiracy. Nico’s got Chris one side with an arm hanging over his shoulders for stability and Will standing at his other side, and for once, his skin isn’t crawling because of the proximity. Instead, it feels like something akin to comfort, or comradery.

“As you all know, this is our last rehearsal this semester because no one is going to be productive in finals,” Reyna addresses them in the firm tone that makes her such a compelling leader to a smatter of laughs, “and we’re coming together pretty well anyway. That being said, I want you all to keep thinking of this play — of Gar and his father — when you’re far from here.

“The story here is not necessarily revolutionary but it’s honest and it’s real and it’s so human, and I — _we_ want to convey that as directly as possible, so I want you all to connect with this story as deeply as possible. So good luck with finals, and happy holidays. I’m proud of you, team.”

Surprisingly, only a few people are miming sentimental tears or clutching a hand to their chest. Everyone else, Nico amongst them, is echoing Reyna’s smile. He turns to look at Will beside him and finds him already turned towards Nico with grin that’s daring in its quirk, the smallest show of teeth, such a quiet confidence.

“Alright, you saps, get out of here now,” Reyna says eventually when the affection is seemingly too much for her, and they all scatter to get their things or say their individual farewells.

Reyna finds Nico when he’s slipping his gloves out of his coat pocket and onto his fingers. “Did you like Will’s gift?” Reyna asks and Nico swears he can hear the smirk in her voice.

“Yeah,” Nico says with as much nonchalance as he can muster which defeats the whole point of nonchalance but oh, well. “But, uh, did he pay for them?”

“No, he got them out of the budget,” Reyna says. “Got them by saying that they’re more economically and environmentally efficient in the long run.”

“Cool.” Nico’s down to monosyllables which means that he should probably try to think of something to say to cover his ass.

“Why aren’t you an actor?” is what Nico comes up with. “I mean, you’re really good at the whole public speaking thing.”

“Too bossy,” she quips without missing a beat. “And too high-strung. Besides, being a director means you’re at the heart of everything. It’s my favourite way to appreciate theater.”

“It’s a lot of work though, right?” Nico replies, adjusting his gloves.

“It can be hectic and overwhelming,” Reyna says. Nico struggles to imagine what an overwhelmed Reyna would be like; displeased or angry sure, but not overwhelmed. “But you’re so connected to the narrative and so close that it starts to feel a little alive.”

“Very poetic,” he says.

Reyna flashes a set of pearly whites and says, “I have to go but I’ll see you in January.”

Nico gives her his customary salutes as walks out of the auditorium, scans the auditorium for the last time this year, then heads the same way.

 

* * *

 

As it turns out, Hazel does end up booking their flight for the 22nd. When she asks if he has any preference for their return date, he sunnily says as soon as possible, so she puts it down for the 5th of January, the Friday before classes start up again. 

They’re both sitting cross-legged beside each, backs against the wall Nico’s bed is pushed against, Nico’s heavy duvet pulled up to their chins, and Nico’s laptop on Hazel’s lap. In their positions, Hazel can’t really turn sideways to face Nico but she does her best to align her torso to face him.

“Look, I know you never look forward to Christmas and I get why but,” — Hazel pauses to struggle for the words — “you shouldn’t keep letting it affect you so much.”

Nico’s face, which had been only upset in jest, goes carefully blank. “I don’t really want to talk about it, Hazel,” he says, voice stormy and low.

Hazel presses her lips together like she wants to argue, but Nico is grateful for the fact that she doesn’t. It’s not the first time that they’ve had this conversation and it never ends prettily. No matter how many times Hazel says that she lost her mother, she gets what loss is, it’s not really the same. The ache of losing his mother was nothing like losing Bianca, nothing like losing his father. He draws his shoulders up in a clear rejection of any avenue of interaction.

With a sigh, Hazel says, verging on a whisper, “Just think about it.” She carefully extracts herself and the laptop from the bed, and Nico hears the gentle tap of her putting the laptop on the wooden desk, then the door opening and closing, before letting out a long, measured breath, then does his best to compartmentalize. He can’t really afford to lose it in the middle of finals.

Admittedly, it isn’t his strong suit, but he tries to focus on working through the material in the 19th century poetry class his next final is on. With every hour he’s working, the images and thoughts in his head recede a little more, until three hours in, they’re muffled in the background.

On the downside, there’s a painful crick in his neck and a burgeoning headache from either working too much or the early stages of dehydration. Possibly both. Nico figures he’s done enough work for the time being and decides to stretch his legs and pass by the coffee shop a little ways away on his way, then mentally pats himself on the back for making a rational decision and not being self-destructive.

Nico wants to assert that he really hates East Coast weather. He’s only two steps out of the dorms when he figures that walking around in the cold at 8 PM is possibly the most self-destructive thing he could’ve done and that his brain is a sneaky son of a bitch. Still, he’s built up a craving for quality caffeine so he uses the legs the Ambiguous Deity Up There gave him and hurries to the coffee shop.

By virtue of its small size, the atmosphere is toasty, an instant magnet for anyone who could possibly benefit from having a coffee machine in their room but can’t afford to. It _is_ finals week so finding a table is a little difficult, but after five minutes a couple gets up and Nico swoops in with dramatic urgency.

He dumps his gloves, coat, and hat on the chair, ties up his hair in a loose bun, and walks up to the counter. His mocha is ready within minutes, so he picks it up and heads back to his table where a squishy armchair is waiting for him.

Nico hadn’t really come with a plan for what to do so he ends up fucking around on his phone, switching between his Twitter feed and taking advantage of his New Yorker subscription. It’s only been twenty minutes or so when he hears someone say, “Sorry, is that seat taken?”

Their voice is familiar, tugging at the far reaches of his brain. When he turns in his seat, he comes face to face with Will Solace. He’s looking a little worse for wear, and wearing a flush that looks feverish when it would normally look lively.

“No, yeah,” Nico says, taking a little too long to reply, “it’s free.”

“Oh! Hi! Sorry I didn’t recognize you with the hair and all.” Nico touches a hand to the aforementioned hair self-consciously. Will’s answering smile is just a quick quirk of his lips and the familiar crinkle around his eyes, before he slips into the seat opposite Nico.

“So, uh, what brings you here?” Nico asks after a lot of deliberation.

“I wanted a refill and I get a discount since I work here,” Will says, gesturing to his cup. “Also, my roommate is going a little crazy over this piece for his composition class and it’s getting to me, so I figured I should steer clear for a few hours until he finishes up. You don’t seem to have an academic purpose like the rest of us poor souls here though.”

“I’m taking a break,” Nico says. “What do you study anyway?”

“Nursing,” Will answers. Nico almost sputters in surprise but feels like it might be a tad too tacky.

“Well, you’ve got the bedside manner down pat,” Nico says.

That earns him a laugh from Will. Nico freezes for a moment because it’s the kind of laugh that sounds how sunlight feels — that makes him feel like he’s bathed in golden showers even though it’s eight in the evening on a cold December night — and lets himself think, _I like Will_ , because he does, then shakes himself out of it.

“Thank you,” Will says with a courteous nod.

“So why nursing? Why not just go for medicine?”

Will ponders over this for a few seconds before he speaks. “Well, to begin with, each one has different training, so I couldn’t really be a nurse if I went for medicine,” he says, articulating each word with care. “But I also didn’t _want_ to be a doctor. I mean, it takes too long and — right, so, doctors are great and we need doctors but nurses are the ones taking care of patients all the time, and giving them their medicine and taking care of their symptoms, you know?”

He’s getting just this side of rambly but Nico has never seen Will passionate like this so he nods and lets him continue. “Like sure, it’s gonna be long hours and a little overwhelming, and it’s so immediate all the time, but it’s so worth it. It’s so satisfying knowing that you’re the one making the patient feel better and healthier and that you’re contributing to their happiness.”

“You know, Reyna said pretty much the same thing about directing the other day,” Nico recalls.

Will hums around a mouthful of his coffee. “Maybe we’re all looking for ways to feel more alive, then.”

“Oh, who knew a blond could be so smart?” Nico says, and Will quickly flashes him a one-fingered salute, forcing a guffaw out of Nico.

After that, conversation halts for a while because Will actually has to study, unlike Nico. Nico is wasting a little more time on his phone when it buzzes with a text.

 **PERCY, 21.22:** _yooooo where u @ were getting food!!_

Nico considers Percy’s offer then glances at Will. If he stays in the coffee shop, he gets to avoid Hazel a little longer and he might get to know Will better, and wouldn’t Leo be delighted about that. In the end, the choice isn’t too difficult.

 **NICO, 21.22:** _go on w out me today_

 **NICO, 21.23:** _im a little busy right now_

 **PERCY, 21.24:** _ooo do i get to know what ur busy w/_

 **NICO, 21.25:** _no_

For the next hour, Will keeps studying diligently, Nico’s hope dimming more and more. At nine-thirty, Will finally takes a break from the notes he’s been perusing this whole time, pulling his arms up to stretch them. Will turns to look longingly at the waning display of pastries at the counter, then looks back to Nico.

“I could do food right now,” Will says. “Are you up for it?”

So far it’s Will and the promise of food against the three units he still has to go through. 19th century poetry doesn’t really stand a chance.

“Sure,” Nico says.

 

* * *

 

As it turns out, Will hadn’t meant the wilting pastries in the coffee shop. He ends up taking Nico to a pho place just on the edge of campus.

Even though Nico is taller than Will by two inches at most, he’s got plenty more leg and a little more motivation to get indoors — Will looks like a classic surfer dude, but he’s dealing remarkably well with the bitter cold which Nico thinks is unfair — so he keeps surpassing him by a few feet. Every time, Will huffs under his breath, catches up to Nico, then nudges him back with his shoulder and a chiding _tsk-tsk_ , even if he can’t help the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

Nico may have started doing it on purpose a little.

The walk takes maybe fifteen minutes and by then, Nico is ready to collapse at the entrance of the pho place. Will must see the heart Nico is giving the building because he mutters, “Definitely a theater kid.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. _Glare-From-Afar_ ,” Nico shoots back.

Will sputters out, “That’s not the same!”

“Sure,” Nico says, stretching the word out. “Now get your ass moving.”

Nico grins at the familiar glare Will aims at him, fixed all the way through Nico opening the door for him and inviting him to follow with a sweep of his hand.

A server shows them to a table and hands them menus, telling them that he’ll be back shortly. Will starts looking through his menu immediately but Nico takes a few moments to breathe in the fragrant aroma that hangs in the air and appreciate the interior — it’s a woodsy, homey kind of place, with soft and bright lighting overhead and broken-in leather on the backs of the seats.

Will’s head suddenly snaps up from his menu. “Wait, you’re not vegetarian or vegan, are you?”

“No,” Nico says.

“Oh, good,” Will says, deflating. “Because when Lou Ellen and I came here, there was like one option for her, and it was still good, but you know, one option.”

“So you know Lou Ellen?” Nico asks, which shouldn’t be new information, since they are both in the play and Will seems like the kind of person to make friends with anybody.

“Yeah, I mean, she’s pretty much half the reason I’m doing the play at all,” Will says, rubbing his neck, and that’s — new information.

“You guys are… dating?” Nico guesses, and it seems like a reasonable enough guess, except Will blanches for a millisecond then bursts into laughter that’s toeing the line between disbelieving and deranged.

Will catches his breath enough to say, “No, no, she’s super gay and I’m super — well, I’m super bi so, uh, definitely not dating.”

“Oh,” Nico says expressively, except he’s going for non-expressive. His brain is forging paths it shouldn't really be forging with this information.

“That’s cool, right?” Will says, a little hesitation creeping into his voice when he’s sobered up a little.

“Yeah, no, obviously, I just didn’t expect to find a fellow gay on this fine evening?”

Will’s face brightens up and is about to say something when the waiter shows up, notepad in hand. Nico, whose menu at this point remains untouched and unopened, begins to panic a little.

“Uh, order for me?” he says to Will weakly, who nods at him.

Nico’s still feeling the backwash of the anxiety and only catches the tail end of Will saying, “You’ll love it!”

“Thanks.”

“So, uh —”

“— yeah.”

“What are you doing for the holidays?” And Will’s obviously trying to move past the last bit of their conversation, except it’s so abrupt that Nico can’t manage to stifle all his laughter.

“Hey!” Will says, except he doesn’t actually sound mad. “At least I’m trying!”

“Yeah, you are.”

“But really, what are you doing?”

Nico tries to think of an answer that isn’t really a lie but doesn’t depict exactly how he expects his holidays to go. A half-truth, if you will. “Pretending my dad doesn’t exist, gorging myself on gingerbread cookies, and marathoning _Brooklyn Nine-Nine_ with my sister,” he counts off on his fingers.

“That’s pretty chill,” Will says.

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who have really elaborate Christmases and you’re like, pitying me right now.”

“Nah,” Will says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “It’s lowkey at mine, too. It’s just going to be me, my mom, and Checkers — that’s the cat.”

Nico is prevented from asking why exactly Will’s cat is named Checkers by the food arriving. He’s torn between annoyance and salivating over how good the pho looks and smells. They thank the waiter and dig into it.

Nico isn’t really the type to try and hold a conversation while eating, but Will is. As it is, he seems proficient at sustaining the life force of the conversation by himself so Nico leaves him to it, only humming through mouthfuls of noodles and beef whenever it seems appropriate.

He ends up learning why Checkers is called Checkers anyway (“I was five and his fur is black and white. I don’t think it needs more explanation.”), that he got into doing lighting through summer camp because he wasn’t coordinated enough for sports and didn’t have any affinity for performing, that he can bake a mean brownie but fucks up anything else. Nico hears enough about Will’s mom and nothing about his dad, figuring that he’s not in the picture.

The soothing cadence of Will’s voice, the warmth of his openness, washes over Nico. Between that, the low lighting in the restaurant, and his full stomach, Nico can feel himself nearing sleep. When he checks his phone it says 11 PM. That’s probably not helping.

“Clearly, I should’ve added an extra espresso to my coffee,” Nico says, drawing a hand over his eyes.

Will immediately starts looking apologetic, as if he isn’t the best part of this. “Do you want to go?”

Nico ponders this for a moment then gets an idea. “Let’s just go outside. The cold will wake me up a little,” he says.

“Okay,” Will replies and asks for a check. Doesn’t do the check-gesture-thing Nico used to do sometimes because it was easier than having to talk to the waiters until his friends collectively told him that it was a bit of an asshole move, and Nico is struck by the difference between him and Will — how unreserved he is, if a little nervous sometimes, how genuine his kindness is — then has to take a moment to stop his self-loathing from festering.

He takes a breath and lists a few things that he likes about himself. He’s honest. He’s always nice to kids. He’s diligent and determined. He’s really loyal to those he cares about. Nico hasn’t really needed therapy for a long time but those tactics are still effective, still necessary sometimes. It’s such a small, insignificant realisation to spawn such a reaction but he’s been wired all day, so he’s not too worried about it.

When he opens his eyes, Will is looking at him with a hint of obscured curiosity, but no scrutiny or judgement.

“Are you ready to go?” Will asks.

“Yeah,” Nico says on the exhale.

They’re just outside the restaurant when Nico realizes that something is amiss. “Wait, how much do I owe you?”

“Forget it,” Will says, which is not an answer. “It’s on me.”

“What? Come on, Will.”

“Consider it payback for me being an ass the first few weeks, then.”

Nico has to bite his lip to keep a smile from slipping out. Evidently, he gets sappier the sleepier he is. On the upside, the cold is doing its part in waking him up. “Alright, yeah, okay,” he concedes.

After five more minutes of aimlessly walking around, Will turns to Nico with a smile that can only be described as mischievous. “How do you feel about going to the auditorium?” he asks.

 

* * *

 

Much to Will’s delight, Nico only has good feelings about going to the auditorium. They’re both walking a little faster that they normally would and Nico has to suppress the urge to giggle. It’s only when they’re at the door that Nico remembers to ask how exactly they’re going to get in.

“I have a key.” The unsaid _duh_ comes across very clearly.

“Wait, why do you have a key?”

“I’m in charge of lighting so I get a key.”

“Isn’t that what they call abusing your position of power?”

Will grins at Nico and says, “It’s not abusing my position of power if no one knows about it,” while waggling his brows.

It’s so unlike Will that Nico has to grin back. “What am I? Corn?”

“You’re too dark to be corn,” Will replies, gesturing at Nico’s customary all-black outfit. “How do you feel about purple cabbage?”

Nico is robbed of the opportunity to answer by Will finally opening the door and walking in.

In the total silence and darkness of near-midnight, the auditorium is an entirely different beast, all lingering ghosts and shadows. Nico shivers involuntarily. Also, no heating. That’s an important one.

“Come on,” Will says. “Let’s get some lights on.”

It’s the first time Nico’s been to the wings. Will goes ahead of him, taking the stairs two at a time, letting Nico appreciate the shadows his thighs make. It’s even darker up there so Will takes ahold of Nico’s elbow to guide him which instantly solves the problem of Nico being cold.

Will fiddles a little before finding the light switch to illuminate his workstation. “These are all my fancy buttons,” he says, pointing to the board on the table. There certainly are a lot buttons.

“That’s one way of putting it,” Nico says after a beat or two.

“Now, let there be light,” Will says. Only the slight quirk of the corner of his mouth belies that this is an inside joke, one he’s made probably hundreds of times.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t go for the middle spotlight, instead switching on a few of the lights at the side of the stage.

“So we’re not blinded,” Will explains.

Nico considers asking Will about how the lighting thing works but he’s not really sure either of them has the brainpower for it, so he follows Will back down to the stage and sits cross-legged beside where Will has put his backpack down to act as a pillow then laid his head on it. It’s bright blue  — his backpack — well-used and treasured. Nico doesn’t know why it matters.

“It’s different now, right?” Will asks as he stares up, so he can’t see Nico looking at him.

“That’s one way of putting it,” Nico echoes. “Do you come here often?”

“When I want to be alone usually,” Will says. “But it’s nice when you’re here too.”

It’s a simple statement but Nico’s brain isn’t getting the message. “A compliment of the highest order,” he says and thankfully, his voice is steady.

“Sure is,” Will sighs. “Sure is.”

They drift between talking and comfortable silence whenever it suits them. Nico is a little amazed at how natural this feels for him. Will’s not the only person who Nico has shared this with but it still leaves him a little wondrous at how forthcoming he is.

Will has just finished telling him about the one time his mother had given him the responsibility of decorating the tree and he had almost set it on fire.

“It’s not exactly chill at my house at Christmas,” Nico offers when it’s maybe a quarter to one. “It’s a lot of silence and feeling like I want to punch my dad and my stepmother and sister trying to mediate a little.”

Will turns to look at Nico with a furrow in his brows.

“My mother died when I was a kid, which, you know, I dealt with fine,” Nico continues quietly. “I was too young. Then my sister died — my other sister — and it sort of went to shit. My dad would shove me at therapists at first, then he eventually gave up. But — but he’s just shut me out and I get that it — it was hard for him but it was _hard for me, too_.

“Like I’ve gotten over Bianca’s death, but I still haven’t fixed anything with him.” He pauses for a heavy moment but he feels entirely stable. “It’ll be eight years in a few weeks. I’m sorry.”

Will still looking at him with a creased forehead and knitted brows and it’s a while before he says, “Don’t be. Thank you for telling me.”

“I think you might’ve figured out that my dad wasn’t around,” Will says. “But I always had my mom and she always made sure I was loved, that I had her. I’m sorry you didn’t get that.”

“You can never miss what you’ve never had.”

They lapse into silence again because there’s not much to say after all that, Nico looking at Will and Will alternating between Nico and the ceiling. Nico lets the question stew in his brain, taking the time to think if it would be okay to ask before he decides that he might as well. The worst that could happen is Will refusing to answer which wouldn’t be the biggest loss in the world.

"Have you ever considered, you know, looking for your dad?" Nico asks slowly, still not sure if this is overstepping his bounds.

Nico can see will's throat bob as he swallows, but he answers regardless. "When I was a kid, I wanted to," Will says, voice soft and tender, "like it was going to be a big adventure and we'd have a heartfelt reunion —" Will goes quiet, and there's a flash of pearly whites which Nico figures means that Will is chewing his bottom lip in distress.

"Anyway, now it's like if he decided he doesn't want to be a part of life, I'm not going to drag him into it, yeah?" Will rolls over on his side to face nico to give him a small smile with just a hint of teeth and says, "And I've got everything I need already."

Nico can feel the contents of his ribcage being set on fire and melding together like a supernova in his chest at Will's precious smile and eyes, but still, he feels like something is going over his head. "That's good," he manages to reply.

It’s only a few minutes later that Will breaks eye contact to look down at his watch then springs up like the floor is lava. “Shit, it’s almost one. Come on, let’s get you home.”

He offers Nico a hand, which Nico gratefully accepts. He thinks he might be swaying on his feet a little.

“How are you not tired at all?” Nico asks accusatorily, his voice ending on an embarrassing whine. Luckily, he’s too tired to give a shit or actively want the ground to swallow him.

“Oh I am,” Will says with amusement. “But one thing they don’t tell you is that in the first couple of years, nursing and pre-med have pretty much the same schedule.”

Nico barks out a laugh that catches somewhere in the middle of his throat. “Okay, yeah, makes a lot more sense.”

Outside, it’s only lit with the lamplights on the path that crawls around campus. Nico figures he’ll be home in fifteen minutes if there are no further detours. If there’s one thing he’s certain of, it’s that no 19th century poetry will be read today. Or yesterday, technically.

“Which halls do you live in?” Will asks.

“Campbell East,” Nico says on autopilot.

“Oh, well then I can drop you off. I’m only a few minutes away,” Will clarifies.

“Cool.” Nico feels like Cinderella minus the pumpkin carriage and glass slippers. Actually, minus everything. It’s just Will dropping him off because he’s half-asleep and it’s convenient.

No further questions come which Nico thanks the Ambiguous Deity Up There for because it could only end in a) embarrassment or b) embarrassment. The only sound is the crickets chirping, and at one point, a gaggle of drunk girls seemingly also making their way home.

At the doors of Campbell East, Nico is about to bid Will farewell when Will says that he doesn’t quite trust Nico with stairs, which Nico says is fair, so they both stumble up the stairs, Will’s hands occasionally brushing his, their feet like thunder in the moonlit space.

“Home sweet home,” Nico says when they get to his room — 224.

"Good night, Nico," Will says, his voice just above a whisper. "I'll see you around."

It's 1 AM so Nico figures he must be delirious because that can't be Will's thumb moving back and forth over the bone jutting out of his wrist, except it feels warm, so warm that it might be spilling out of his ribcage.

"Good night, Will," he says, heart in his throat and Will gives him one last ephemeral smile before he leaves.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Nico wakes up feeling hungover without the alcohol which is probably the dictionary definition of the worst of both worlds. Is that a phrase people use? When he checks the time — screen brightness set to the lowest setting — it’s a little after 8 in the morning. He would use his window as a reference except nature is unreliable in the art of time-telling, especially during the winter. Only more evidence to support the hypothesis that time is a construct. Nico briefly wonders if that could get him out of the exam he has the next day. 

Besides being able to tell him the time, his phone also shows him a slew of messages addressed to him at some point between midnight and ten minutes ago. _Well, someone’s popular,_ he thinks dryly.

One is from Hazel, casually asking if he wants to grab a coffee on Friday, which he accepts. Another is from Percy sent only a few minutes after the last one Nico had sent that said, _alrighty suit urself!! n have fun!!_ The last few were from Jason, the first at 11 PM the previous night and the rest just 12 minutes ago.

 **JASON, 23.07:** _would you be up for shopping on Friday? I haven’t gotten half the presents on my list…_

 **JASON, 07.42:** _we’re on our way to breakfast now_

 **JASON, 07.43:** _so u gotta come and fill us in on ur nightly adventures!!_

 **JASON, 07.43:** _that was Percy just so you know_

Nico laughs softly to himself. Percy could be a little over involved sometimes but he was never lacking enthusiasm or loyalty. He sends a text back to Jason telling him that he’ll join them soon. Just as he’s about to get dressed, he catches sight of Will’s number which he’d put into his phone the day he’d gotten it. He hesitates for a moment, then types out a message, and hits send before he can chicken out of it.

 **NICO, 07.59:** _ur lucky i dont have any exams because ive got a killer headache from staying out_

Nico hasn’t had the chance to put his phone down quite yet when he gets a notification. That was quick.

 **WILL, 08.00:** _you may not have one but i do IN AN HOUR_

 **WILL, 08.00:** _also sorry about the headache! hope you at least had fun_

 **NICO, 08.02:** _thanks i did_

 **NICO, 08.03:** _now go study_

 **WILL, 08.05:** _fine mom_

Unsure of what to reply, Nico decides that it’s about time he got dressed, so he does. Getting dressed doesn’t stop him from thinking about it though. How do people like him even exist — people who text you back right away and drop you home at one in the morning. Actually, Nico knows. He’s friends with entire posse of that type, but even then, Will was on another level. It was evident that he wasn’t perfect — that he could be rude and petty like any other person — but Nico was still endlessly charmed.

There is also the matter of the previous night — this morning? — that still feels a little like a hallucinatory dream. Had he really told Will about his family? Had Will really held his hand in front of his room’s door? _It’s too early for this shit_ , Nico thinks vehemently.

But even with cutting his thoughts short, he still takes a few minutes more than usual for him to get dressed.

When he gets there, everybody’s there bar Frank and Hazel, who he figures are in the freshman dining hall. He takes a seat beside Jason and across from Annabeth since they can be trusted to be the least annoying about his absence last night.

Then again, that doesn’t erase the fact that Percy is still on the other side of Jason. “What were you doing last night, young man?” he inquires at a louder volume than is socially acceptable, with just a hint of a drawl. Of course, this only prompts raised brows from Piper and exaggerated eyebrow waggling from Leo.

“I was out,” Nico says elaborately.

“If you think I won’t figure out what you were up to, you’re wrong,” Percy says.

“I wasn’t up to anything.” And he _wasn’t_.

“Okay, so were you with anyone?” Percy smile is shark-like. He knows this is a bullet Nico can’t dodge without lying, an activity he doesn’t enjoy partaking in.

“Uh, yes?”

“And who were you with?”

Nico is starting to feel like this is an interrogation more and more with every sentence uttered. He considers not answering the question, except he knows Percy will be more annoying if he denies him the answer than if he gives it to him. “Will,” he says. At everyone’s blank looks, he adds, “The guy from the play.”

Piper’s eyebrows reach her hairline now; Percy lets out an untrustworthy _ooh_ ; Leo honest-to-god fist pumps and says, “Knew it.”; even Jason is leaning forward and looking at him curiously. Only Annabeth can be trusted at this table.

“This is not a thing,” he says. He should have known better than to challenge them.

“This is totally a thing,” Piper says. There’s a gleam in Piper’s eyes that tells him that he should be afraid. As a general rule, Nico doesn’t trust people with green eyes. Exhibit A: Piper. Exhibit B: Percy. Case closed.

“No,” Nico evades.

“But you _like_ him,” Leo says with more suggestive eyebrow movements. _What is with these people and eyebrows?_ Nico thinks.

“Don’t remember saying that,” Nico says then takes aggressively takes a bite of his croissant.

“Isn’t subtext your thing, Mr. English Major?” Piper asks.

Nico’s skin is starting to itch a little. There’s no denying that he likes Will, but he doesn’t really feel like discussing last night when he hasn’t really processed it himself. It’s still too premature to bring out into the open.

“Uh, don’t think we covered that one yet, sorry, Piper.”

Percy opens his mouth to reply when Annabeth, who has been watching the scene unfold with a neutral expression, interrupts. “If Nico doesn’t want to talk about it, then he doesn’t have to. Right?” she says with a smile that’s between threatening and comforting. Her tone definitely wouldn’t be called motherly but it still seems to inject that same brand of guilt into them because no one attempts to explore that line of questioning further.

Nico wants to feel indignant but can only manage a mixture of relief and gratitude. “Thanks,” he says to the table, but mostly to Annabeth.

“Sure. And when you do decide to tell them,” she says, pointing to Percy and Leo, “do it as soon as you can because these little shits are gonna annoy me ‘til then.”

Percy leans around Jason to face Nico and say, “Sorry, man, but when you do feel comfortable enough to tell us —”

“— you know where to go,” Leo finishes off a compelling display of finger guns.

“Yeah,” Nico concedes, snorting. He couldn’t hate them for caring too much about him. “Yeah, okay.”

 

* * *

 

Between finals, last minute Christmas shopping to get a gift for Piper for their Secret Santa and Hazel for general sibling reasons, and then packing, Nico doesn’t actually get to see Will again before leaving, but the occasional commentary through text does continue. When he has the misfortune of receiving a text when he’s with his friends and ends up smiling at his phone for a few seconds, there are knowing looks abound. But there is the fact that no one pushes him for details.

At present, he’s rolling a suitcase behind him and trailing after Hazel as she leads them to the check-in. He’s also texting Will because Will is ridiculous and also to distract himself from the fact that he’s going to have to see his father.

 **WILL, 15.29:** _so this guy trips walking UP THE STAIRS and scrapes his elbow_

 **WILL, 15.29:** _and like the good samaritan i am i wrap it up with some gauze_

 **WILL, 15.30:** _and people have THE GALL to be weirded out by me having gauze_

 **WILL, 15.31:** _like come ON lou ellen you’ve known me since grade school how would i not have gauze_

 **NICO, 15.33:** _ok but why do u have gauze for real?_

 **WILL, 15.33:** _NOT YOU TOO_

 **NICO, 15.33:** _while i would love to hear more about why u carry gauze i need to go thru security etc etc so bye_

 **WILL, 15.34:** _have a safe flight!_

Nico puts away his phone in his bag just as they’re about to walk through security. Hazel barely smothers a grin and Nico is tempted to flip her off but he’s not sure how well that would be received by the aggressively child-friendly hordes in the airport.

They get through security and get to their gate. Except it’s not until half an hour before boarding that they realize that they’re at the wrong. It’s a lot of “Holy fuck, we’re gonna miss our flight,” and “A and B look really similar printed, okay?” By the time they make to their gate, they’re panting and pretty wired up and the woman at the desk looks like she’s going to laugh, but they have a little over five minutes to spare so it’s fine, really.

While they’re taking off, Nico thinks it might be for the best since now, he’s too tired to be scared of flying, like a hyperactive child that needs to be tired out before being put to bed. This is a fine moment for him.

They’re there within an hour or so, but Hazel has still managed to reach the brink of sleep within that time. Nico has to nudge her gently to get her up. Thankfully, she’s got enough control over her motor functions that she can walk steadily, though she leaves the baggage claim to Nico.

They don’t have to wait long before Jules-Albert rolls up. They get into the car where Jules-Albert is blasting the heat and Nico thanks the Ambiguous Deity Up There for Jules-Albert. He asks Nico and Hazel about how the semester to which Nico mostly shrugs and Hazel doesn’t respond because the warmth of the car has lulled her back to semi-slumber.

When the imposing silhouette of the house comes into view, Jules-Albert says, “Your father is in a meeting now, but he’ll be back for dinner.” After he helps them carry their bags, Nico thanks him, and Jules-Albert takes his leave.

The entrance hall is too well-designed to be drafty but Nico still feels a coldness settle in his bones, a frosty tension. He does his best to shake it out then heads up to his room. The only change that he sees is that his bed has been made since he’s been gone.

Everything else is the same: the same plaid spread, the worn posters on his walls weathered by the years, the same masks he and Bianca had painted when he was eleven hanging off the hook beside his wardrobe, the same bookshelf littered with playbills. Nico feels a momentary pressure on his chest, and for as long as it’s there, he can’t breathe.

Being in his room has always been conflicting — on one hand, it’s was — _is_ his sanctuary from his family, from everything else, when he’s home, but there’s no denying that the space he’s carved out for himself in college, not necessarily a permanent space but really, the entire campus has felt more homely in the first few months that he’d been there than the fifteen years he’d spent in this house, so how could he consider it home when it never truly felt like it?

He’d thought he was prepared to be back, had told himself it had only been three and a half months, but here he is, emotions surging at seeing everything with fresh eyes like it is every time he comes home.

Sitting on the bed with his knees tucked into his chest, Nico takes long, measured breaths, and tries to process every memory as it comes. Whether it’s from exhaustion or the controlled pattern of his breathing, he finds himself dozing off, and somewhere in his dreams, he is eleven again and Bianca is holding him close and it feels okay again.

He comes to when Hazel calls him back to wakefulness and greets him with a gentle smile.

“Come on, it’s almost time for dinner,” she says.

Nico feels some of his soul come back to him as he groans out in despair. “Is it optional?” he asks.

“You know it’s not,” she chides. “Stop being a baby and get your ass up.”

“Do I at least get some battle paint before we go?”

“Hm, no, that wasn’t part of the agreement.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” he says, holding out a hand in a silent request for her to pull him up, to which she obliges. Maybe a little too strongly because he almost stumbles.

Nico takes a deep breath — and ignores Hazel’s eye-roll — and makes way for the dining room.

His father isn’t at the table yet, which means that he’s either still in his room, or since Persephone is already at the table, it’s more likely that he’s in the kitchen getting the food. When Persephone catches sight of him, she gives him a small sly wave.

“Welcome back, Nico,” she says, a hint of a smirk playing at her mouth. “Hope you enjoyed you nap.”

Persephone is — cool. As far as stepmothers and stepchildren go, their relationship is pretty cordial, affectionate even. She was distantly watchful and careful to give him and Hazel their space when she first met them which they had both appreciated, joked with them and knew what their favourite movies were, snuck them wine at holiday dinners, so they had a deal. There was the downside of her mother but it was a good thing they only saw her once every few years.

“And hello to you, too,” Nico says. His voice is still croaky with disuse and fatigue.

After he and Hazel sit at the table, Persephone and Hazel busy themselves with small talk while Nico takes a few minutes to screw his head back on his shoulders a little more firmly.

Nico smells his dad before he sees him — or rather, smells the pots soup and pasta he’s carrying. It’s fragrant and Nico would probably appreciate it more if he wasn’t working so hard on not reacting to his dad. There’s a familiar simmer deep beneath his skin coming back to life, but it’s not time for that. It’s never time for that, but it’s easier to delay than to confront.

“Nico, Hazel, it’s good to see you again,” he says as he sets the food down. If it wasn’t for the pure dad-quality of his tone and the hint of warmth embedded in it, Nico would think he was on the phone with a colleague of something.

Hazel replies earnestly and starts asking him about what he’s been up to or whatever so Nico can get away with just mumbling a hello back. Nico manages to eat in mostly silence until he catches the tail end of Hazel’s sentence, “... and Nico’s been working on this play.”

Caught off guard, Nico’s head snaps up, pasta slurped halfway to his mouth, and he makes an half-surprised, half-inquisitive sound.

“Which play?” his father asks, question clearly directed at Nico. And this evening was going so well.

“Uh, Philadelphia, Here I Come,” Nico says.

“Oh, isn’t that the play you saw when you visited your grandfather when he was in Dublin?” Nico had been hoping he wouldn’t remember that detail, because then he’d say things like that while carefully omitting the phantom _with your mother and sister._

“Yeah,” Nico says quietly.

“I hope it’s going well,” he says, and he’s trying it seems, but the foundation’s too crooked for the surface to make an impact.

“Yeah,” Nico echoes. “It is.”

The conversation swerves away from him again, and Nico thinks of the play and kind of wants to laugh his way into hell because here’s his own SB O’Donnell. He thinks of Gar desperately trying to get his father to acknowledge that he loves his son, the memory of that rainy May day on the blue boat on Lough na Cloc Cor, eventually driven away by his tight-lipped indifference. Life really does imitate art, he supposes.

It’s the same thing until the end of the dinner. Nico get up from the table with the same tension strung tight in the marrow of his bones, feeling small and seventeen again. He’s about to escape back to his room but Hazel intercepts him to hold him to their plans of marathoning _Brooklyn Nine-Nine_. At his nod, she tells him she’ll meet him in her room after he’s done helping Persephone clean up the table.

Nico stares at her in confusion, to which she grins and dashes off, yelling, “Have fun!”

Oh. Fuck.

Nico balances a stack of plates in his arms and carries them into the kitchen. He drops them into the sink where Persephone is wiping them down to load into the dishwasher.

“Hazel get you, huh?” Persephone guesses with a laugh. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Just put these” — she points to the semi-clean plates — “in the dishwasher.”

They work in relative quiet and finish off in a few minutes. Nico is washing his hands, when Persephone turns on him with a thoughtful gaze, almost like she’s going to says something. Whatever it is, it doesn’t seem worth saying, apparently, because she goes back to drying her hands excessively with a towel. Nico does her the courtesy of not commenting and slipping out as quickly as possible.

When he’s in Hazel’s room, she pats down the space next to her on the bed and he goes to burrow himself under the blankets there. The soft _pat_ of Hazel’s feet tell him that she’s going to turn off the light, then she joins him under the blankets, the laptop precariously balanced on her thighs as she slips in.

Just as the familiar theme song rings out, slightly echoey, Nico feels Hazel’s hand grip his and squeeze. He squeezes back, withdraws his hand, and lets her rest her rest her head on his shoulder.

It’s not until midnight when they’ve finished half of season one and Nico’s back in his room that he realizes that he hasn’t checked his phone since he was at the airport. Groggily, he registers the two texts Will has sent.

 **WILL, 17.09:** _either your phone isn’t working or the plane crashed but let me know when you’re safely at home! :-)_

 **WILL, 18.53:** _also have fun watching b99 with your sister_

 **WILL, 18.53:** _i say this because i started watching it and i finished s1 and i’m too invested now_

 **WILL, 22.36:** _anyway i’m going to bed now hope you’re okay_

Nico has to bury his smile in his sleeve even though there isn’t really anyone in the solitary dark of his room to witness. Still, it feels too unreal to let out into the open.

 **NICO, 00.08:** _sorry im okay just busy when i got back_

 **NICO, 00.09:** _but b99 rlly is gold every other tv show can go home_

 **NICO, 00.09:** _good night will_

There’s a feeling like a firefly caught in his chest, and he lets it glow a little long, lets it carry him into sleep.

 

* * *

 

Everything goes smoothly (as smoothly as is expected) up until New Year’s Eve. Christmas is sedate and ordinary. His presents are decent and Hazel likes what the portable watercolor set he got her and he eats until he’s stuffed. His father and Persephone have a go of making dinner together and pretending that nothing’s looming and that suits Nico — just fine. Really, it does.

“It’s okay to be upset, Nico,” Hazel says gently to him as they recuperate in the living room.

“I’m telling you I’m not but whatever,” Nico says and narrowly represses the urge to cross his arms like a sullen child. “I’m fine, Hazel, just have fun. Please.”

It’s only on New Year’s Eve that the dam in Nico is done for. It’s less definitive, but more like an annual flooding, still disastrous, but unpreventable and impermanent. Nico makes himself even more scarce than usual, a ritual that everyone else complies with.

 

* * *

 

Bianca had died on January 2nd. He had been 26 days away from turning twelve. He’d been counting down the days. He’d been high off the energy the turn of the year gave off. 

The car crash had happened less than ten minutes away from their house, close enough that he remembers hearing the sirens on their way to the crash, even if he hadn’t thought anything of it then. He later learned that a combination another car zooming past and the slippery road had caused the car to swerve into a pole. Bianca’s skull caved in and the other girl driving the car, Zoe, had careened out of the glass. Nico tried not to picture it.

It wasn’t until a few hours later when Nico was still home alone and neither his father nor his sister had come home like they were supposed to that he began to wonder what was going on.

There had been no Persephone or Hazel then, and Jules-Albert hadn’t been there at that moment. It had just Nico and the big, big house that he would still get lost in sometimes if he wasn’t too careful. He hadn’t seen his father until the next morning when he woke up on one of the couch and his father had been sitting in an armchair, hands buried between his hands.

“Where were you? And where’s Bianca?” he had asked, half-accusatory, half-curious. Nico was an intelligent kid but he wasn’t all that good at picking up on atmospheres.

His father hadn’t moved, or said anything, or almost breathed for almost two minutes, then he had replied in a hoarse whispers, “Bianca’s gone,” face unmoved.

Nico had shrunk into himself and willed himself not to believe it. He’d heard those words before, after they’d pulled him and Bianca out of the fire that had killed their mom. Bianca had survived that fire, she couldn’t die now. She was only coming home from soccer practice.

“Gone?” he had said, and he’d sounded like he’d barely come out of the womb, but he couldn’t help it. Then his father lifted his face, gaunter than Nico remembered, pale and so defeated that Nico would have been a fool to keep denying it.

Nico had burst into tears then, clothes sleep-rumpled and hair sticking up on one side. Skinny eleven-year-old Nico with his little voice and wide dark eyes that he and Bianca got from their dad, still half-leaning on the couch and red-faced from gasping out tears. And his father — his father hadn’t moved, eyes haunted and unfocused as they looked at Nico, and Nico had looked back and hugged himself and tried to feel phantom limbs embracing him and felt nothing.

Sometimes, when Nico recalls this memory now, and he thinks of how he must have looked, his heart splinters a little more for the child that he had been, the comfort that had been stripped from, the sister he had lost.

 

* * *

 

Nico wakes up like his nightmare has already drifted away, leaving nothing but latent horror and screaming numb. _It’s nothing new,_ he tells himself. _It’s a day and it passes just like all the other days_. It’s 4 AM when he wakes up but staring at his ceiling consumes a couple of hours while he’s barely holding onto threads of reality. 

Eventually, he gathers enough of his consciousness to starts his routine for this day. He doesn’t bother with anything other than getting dressed, then gathering a few blankets, before heading out.

His first stop is a flower shop that sits a few streets away from the graveyard. The old lady who works there recognizes him like she does every year and gives him a sympathetic smile. She must have it perfected at this point, he muses sardonically, from all the poor sobs like him who come in everyday. He asks for the flowers he wants then sits back as she goes to the back where the greenhouse is to gather the selection.

It’s always peaceful in the flower shop, sweet-smelling, like nothing bad ever happened here. Except Nico knows that the old lady opened this shop after her mother had died to cope with it. At another time, it would have sounded hopeful to him, how everything bloomed after death, but there is nothing now in him that can subsist a sprig of hope.

It could have been a few minutes or a few hours before the old lady returns with the white lilies and marigolds, a few carnations off the sides.

Lilies had been Bianca’s favorites.

He pays the old lady and thanks her, leaving her whimsical brand of comfort behind. His feet lead him to  the graveyard, operating almost purely on muscle memory. The first year after she died, Nico hadn’t visited her grave, hadn’t even attended the burial, because he couldn’t bear to see it cemented that she was dead. He remembers being at her wake — her olive-toned skin had turned so sallow and pale, her dark eyes hidden beneath bluish eyelids — and throwing up in a potted plant in the minutes he had escaped from his father’s side under the guise of going to the bathroom. Then again, he had gone to the bathroom to wash out his mouth.

When he parts the gates, he sees that there’s only two other people there, a woman and a little boy who was probably her son. Bianca’s buried near the back, where Nico knows other distant relatives are buried, too.

The second her headstone comes into full view, Nico can feel his knees weakening beneath him. He takes the final few steps until he’s in front of her grave directly, and presses his fingers to lips before sweeping them over the top of her headstone as he kneels down on his knees.

Nico knows that he should probably set down the blankets lest his legs freeze off but for the span of an eternity burrowed in a breath, he lets his eyelids rest down and his sadness overcome him in a way he doesn’t usually let, even on his worse days.

“If you’re really up there somewhere, you’re probably sick of hearing this,” he whispers hoarsely, “but I miss you, Bianca.”

He’s going to be here a long while so he figures he might as well get up and set everything up. First, he carefully lays down the flowers, then dusts off his pants. He has two blankets: one to sit on and one to wrap around himself regardless of the coat he’s wearing. When he was younger, he would pretend  that it was like a hug or like sitting in front of a fireplace even if his current position is possibly the furthest thing from a fireplace, save for Antarctica.

“You know, I’m mostly used to you not being around at this point because time waits for no one and all that but sometimes,” he says, “I still can’t help thinking what you would be like or do if you were here today. Like would I be going to same college, or would I have come out to everyone, or how you would’ve reacted or if you would still have the same haircut, or if you would still be playing soccer.

“I think you would’ve like Hazel and all my friends. I used to think that you were really outgoing but when I remember you now, you’re almost as bad as I am, but they have a weird way of making everyone participate. Like Piper got me doing this play, the one we saw when we went to visit _nonno_ , you remember?

“You weren’t crazy about it, but I was so excited the first few days after we saw it that you would still agree to be Madge for my sake, and you would have to pretend to laugh in that first scene when he tickles her because you’re not ticklish at all, and yeah. Yeah, I’m having fun with it. It’s good to be loud again for once, you know? I used to be such a blabbermouth, I don’t know how you used to put up with me.

“Just another proof that you were an angel,” he sighs forlornly.

Nico speaks to her until his voice goes rough and his nose feels like it’s going to break right off, but it’s important for him to do this. There’s nowhere else where he feels quite as close to her, as though she might actually be listening. It’s a little like a therapy session except much colder and no one is trying to psychoanalyze him other than himself a little.

It’s maybe a little past noon, when Nico has been enjoying a period of silence when he hears the crunch of another pair of footsteps approaching. His shoulders hunch of their own accord, but he pays it no heed until an unmistakable voice says his name.

“Dad,” Nico says without turning around.

“I… I thought I’d find you here,” his father says.

“How nice of you to visit after all these years. Did you want anything in particular?”

“I wanted to sit with you.”

Nico represses a flinch at the request because this is supposed to be _his_ space, _his_ time with Bianca, especially when his father had never deigned join him before, but he shrugs minimally, and hopes that’s answer enough. Instead of sitting down, his father hovers above him, like a fly or something equally irritating.

“What,” Nico asks in a deadpan.

“I know I haven’t dealt with this — well, but I want to try,” his father says and — _really?_ Nico thinks. _Is he actually going to do this?_

With barely-concealed contempt brewing in his blood, Nico says, “Oh, okay, _alright_ , so why the sudden change of heart?”

“Nico,” he says sternly, like that’s supposed to do something. “Stop acting like this.”

Nico draws his fingers into his palm so tightly, he can feel the indents forming, then scrambles up, because fuck it, he can’t sit here anymore. “I’m sorry,” he drawls, “how exactly was I acting? Totally uncommunicative and unemotional for the better part of a decade? Or borderline amnesiac when it comes to the death of my wife and sister? Or completely unreactive when my son trusts him with telling him that he’s gay? You know what?” — he takes a furious breath through his nose and pulls his hat off his head to twist it between his hands — “I’m leaving. You — you _sit_ _down here_ and enjoy yourself, yeah?”

“Nico, wait.”

“ _What_?” And this time, it’s like gunmetal breaking through air, it’s like a dare.

“I’m sorry,” his father says, voice so small Nico can hardly believe it’s him. “I didn’t know what to do because I didn’t think I could help you, and that’s… not an excuse, but I’ve missed you while you were away. It was so much more distant.”

“Distant, huh?” Nico chuckles darkly. He finally looks up at his father, whose face is the most expressive he’s seen in years, and chews his lips before he says, with the slightest tremble, “Why… why didn’t you think that there was something that you had that not all the child psychiatrists in the fucking world could give me? Why?”

“Nico —”

“No, I spent years, not knowing what I did wrong, not knowing if you even wanted me around, not knowing if you were okay, and _why_? Because you were _scared_? Everyone out there is so intimidated by you when really, you’re just a — a goddamn mouse in a lion’s skin, what the fuck?”

“I didn’t think I would be good for you, angry and upset as I was all the time —”

“— and you didn’t think that _I_ would be the same —”

“— but you must have known,” he says with conviction. “You must have known that I love you and that I’ve always been proud of you — that you were my only joy, _passoretto_.”

Nico’s mouth, which had been on the verge of releasing another round of snappy and indignant remarks, snaps shut and he deflates. No one has called him that since his mother died. Nico doesn’t remember most of the Italian his mother had taught him as a child but he still recalls this. Little sparrow, because he was always so skinny and flighty and birdlike. His father used to hoist him and spin him around so he could really be one.

“I know that this can’t be fixed in a day,” his father says, and he’s so earnest that Nico can’t begrudge him this. He can admit to missing his father, too. “But I want to try.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Nico agrees slowly, feeling the breath woosh out of him. “I’m — but not now — not — I can’t be here. I’m leaving now.”

His father dims slightly, but he nods at him nevertheless. Nico’s about to turn away when his father says, “Thank you, Nico.”

“I — you’re welcome,” Nico replies. “Whatever.”

“ _What the fuck?_ ” Nico whispers to himself as he pushes past the gate, because really.

 

* * *

 

When Nico arrives home again, his skin is buzzing with energy and conflict. He wears a hole into the carpet in the entrance hall, proceeds to do the same in his room, then walks frantically up and down the stairs, before he decides that there’s nothing else to be done. So he books a seat on the earliest flight back, which is for 1 AM that night.

His list of things he could possibly do right now are a) wringing his hands and b) packing, so the choice really isn’t that difficult. It takes him maybe half an hour to locate all of his belongings including his phone, which he had tossed aside indiscriminately when he woke up. There are few texts from Percy, who has sent general support, then a few from Will, which make him smile a little despite himself.

 **WILL, 14.39:** _image.jpg_

 **WILL, 14.39:** _checkers’s final melancholy farewell_

 **WILL, 14.40:** _at least someone will miss me :’’-)_

 **NICO, 16.53:** _wait ur going back today?_

 **WILL, 16.54:** _yeah flights are cheaper for some reason_

 **WILL, 16.56:** _anyway i’m boarding now so bye!_

 **NICO, 16.56:** _bye_

Seven hours left.

Dinner is not necessarily somber, but it’s even quieter than usual, even if the atmosphere is less charged. So obviously, it’s the perfect time for him to announce that he’s going back. There is the distinct possibility that it has never been so silent.

“Does this...” Hazel starts, looking between Nico and his father.

“No, uh, no, I just think it’s time for me to go back,” he says. His father, surprisingly says nothing.

“If you’re sure,” Persephone says slowly.

“Yeah, I am,” Nico replies quietly.

Predictably though, Hazel corners him, arms crossed and a furrow between her brows that belies the fact that she’s a little angry at him. “What the hell was that?” she asks. “Seriously, did dad do something?”

“I mean, technically?” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “He just, uh, finally got the balls to talk it out.”

At Hazel’s concerned expression, he rushes to add, “Nothing bad, like he even apologized and shit, but I just need to leave and let it cool down. That’s it.”

“One day, you’re not going to be able to escape all your problems by booking a flight out of here, but fine,” she says sardonically, but she’s faintly glowing with pride, and Nico can feel himself catching it too. “I’m happy you guys finally talked it out, though.”

“Still a long way to go, but yeah.”

“I’ll see you soon,” she reminds him with a threatening finger.

“Same to you.” He knocks his shoulder against hers, then ruffles her curls because he can.

He ends up going to the airport three and a half hours before his flight is due to leave, after giving reserved goodbyes to Persephone and his father. He’s so early that he can’t check-in so he has to idle near the food court for a while.

At the very least, it means he has enough time to read (and carefully reread) his ticket when he does check-in and get to his gate with plenty to spare. On an impulse, Nico takes a picture of the runway spotted with pinpricks of light and sends it off to Will.

 **NICO, 23.27:** _image.jpg_

 **NICO, 23.27:** _see u soon_

 **WILL, 23.30:** _wait what_

 **WILL, 23.32:** _i thought you were coming back on friday?_

 **NICO, 23.33:** _i was but theres been a change of plans_

 **WILL, 23.33:** _is everything okay?_

 **NICO, 23.33:** _yeah_

 **NICO, 23.40:** _its all good_

 **WILL, 23.41:** _alright if you say so_

 **WILL, 23.42:** _when is your flight?_

 **NICO, 23.42:** _boardings in an hour-ish???_

 **WILL, 23.43:** _wow clearly you’ve learned your lesson from last time_

 **NICO, 23.43:** _i thought of that too but u dont need to rub it in_

 **WILL, 23.43:** _sorry i’ll be gentle_

 **NICO, 23.44:** _fuck off :))))))_

Nico gets so lost in the rhythm of texting Will that he almost misses the announcement for boarding. In his surprise, he nearly falls off his chair, clutching onto the armrest for dear life, attracting the attention of one fairly concerned middle-aged woman, responding with a tight smile to reassure her.

 **NICO, 00.43:** _i nearly fell off my chair hope ur pleased_

 **WILL, 00.44:** _i’m… unsure of what i did but thanks for the information?_

 **NICO, 00.44:** _nvm_

 **NICO, 00.45:** _anyway im boarding now so bye_

 **WILL, 00.45:** _oh okay bye_

 **NICO, 00.45:** _also go to sleep u fool_

 **WILL, 00.46:** _for our friendship’s sake i’m going to take that kindly but yeah_

 **WILL, 00.46:** _good night_

 **WILL, 00.47:** _and have a safe flight!_

 **NICO, 00.48:** _thanks_

Between the emotional turmoil of the day, the high from talking to Will for so long, and his vague perpetual fear of flying, taking a nap is a hopeless, instantly-fruitless venture. Instead, he fights someone over the window seat and spends the hour looking out of the window, which somehow has the effect of simultaneously soothing him and making him more wired.

When they land, Nico feels like he’s crashing from drinking four energy drinks successively, which something he did during his first semester in freshman year. Admittedly, not his brightest idea but there’s something to be said for desperate times and desperate measures. He hails a cab and manages by sheer power of will to stay awake through it. Then again, it makes it easier to ignore the extremely dubious glances the cab driver gives him in the mirror.

Campus looks the same when he gets out of the cab. Nico has the fleeting thought that night is such an unchanged time, so endlessly eternal and unmoving and mythologized. He has the ridiculous urge to stay on the front steps of his dorm hall and watch the wind rustle through the bare branches of the trees, then thinks that it would be a shame if he survived all that he did then died because of hypothermia.

Has Nico mentioned that he’s very grateful for the logical part of his brain sometimes?

The moment he sees his bed, he knows that any task beyond taking off his shoes and coat is simply too much and undoable. He falls onto his bed with a thump and relinquishes his hold on consciousness.

 

* * *

 

Upon waking up, Nico finds that he is the recipient of two texts, both from Will, the first inviting him over after he’s done with work at 5 which is a unsurprising five hours from now, the second being his address, only a few minutes’ walk from Nico’s room.

Nico unpacks, takes a shower, then rearranges his closet, and when that doesn’t consume enough time, his bookshelf and dresser. Perhaps he should look into expanding his wardrobe. Eventually, he settles for picking up on where he and Hazel left off on _Brooklyn Nine-Nine._

He’s at Will’s door at three-past-five, something he’s sure Will won’t mind. Will opens up the door with a smile, even if it’s one that’s just a little worn with fatigue, but not dulled at all. He seems to sense Nico’s hesitation at his greeting because he does that thing again where he grips Nico’s wrist and — is that flirting? Is it normal bro-Will? Not that Nico believes a bro-Will actually exists but still, he’ll be damned if he doesn’t admit that he can feel flames licking at his wrist.

“It’s good to see you again,” Will says with that same soft smile, and between that and the way his rumpled t-shirt and mussed hair make him look, Nico’s brain trips a little. It is possible that distance does make the heart fonder.

“Uh, you, too,” Nico says, by the grace of the Ambiguous Deity Up There.

“Come on in.”

It’s clear that Will isn’t responsible for the decorating: painting with flashy palettes and bold brushstrokes are scattered throughout the room. It’s a little more spacious than a regular room though, with enough space for a tiny kitchenette which is actually a single counter, shelf, and sink, as well as a couch. It feels strangely like looking into Will’s diary, because you’ve got the superficial details, but there’s also the muddy shoes beside the door and the sour cream and onion chips on the counter and the coat Will has tossed aside and the quilt that’s thrown over the couch haphazardly.

Will interrupts his observational reverie with the question of what he wants to watch.

“Huh?” Nico asks.

“What do you want to watch?” Will repeats.

“You choose.”

“I knew you’d say that,” Will says with a smile that doesn’t bode well, “so we’re watching _Justice League_.”

“You monster,” Nico deadpans, but he’s sitting back on Will’s bed without complaint. Actually, he might be shitting himself a little but that’s not relevant.

They’re a quarter of the way through, and it’s actually not that bad, when Nico says, “I talked to my dad.”

Will slowly pauses the movie, and turns to face Nico as best as he can. “About your sister?”

“Yeah,” Nico says, inexplicably nervous. “It was the anniversary of — uh — of the day she died and he came up to me and yeah, I don’t know.”

“Is that a good ‘I don’t know’ or a bad ‘I don’t know’?” Will asks, brows knitted in concern.

Nico licks his lips and deliberates upon his answer. “I’m not sure?” he replies. “I just — I, you know, he finally talked to me about. Finally _explained_ himself even if it was a shitty explanation.” Nico runs a shaky hand through his hair and exclaims, “He even apologized!”

The breath Nico takes to ground himself only makes his eyes sting with tears, which he’d rather not have, especially in front of Will. “It’s just that it’s a shitty explanation in the end, like it makes no sense, and it’s the whole reason our relationship has deteriorated so badly,” he tells Will, fiddling with the cuff of his sleeve,  “and it’s all summed up by the fact that he was scared, and not — not that I _blame_ him, really, but still” — his voice drops down to a whisper — “he should’ve done better.”

Will raises his arms then falters for a moment, looking at Nico in a silent request. Nico basically curls towards him which is not his most sophisticated moment but he’s too upset and needy for comfort to give a shit. Will is like a space heater, if a space heater had really nice arms that ran up and down your back.

“I’m happy that you finally talked,” Will says somewhere in the general vicinity of Nico’s hair, “but hey, this is progress. You don’t have to just let go of it. That’s the point of talking it out and you’re just getting started, and it’s all going to be so much better.”

“You’re really good at this whole comforting people thing,” Nico mumbles into Will’s shoulder with a sniff much to Will’s amusement.

“Bedside manners.”

“Oh, yeah, aspiring nurse and all,” Nico recalls.

Will then regales him with the tale of Checkers attempting to eat the Christmas lights, and then running off with the string of lights, collectively tripping up everyone in the house. Nico can feel his eyelids just starting to droop, which is ridiculous because he’d woken up from a nine-hour slumber not five hours ago. Will must have superpowers or something.

“Also, I want you to know that I really like you,” Will whispers in a steady tone, as he skims an experimental hand over Nico’s head, “as in I would try to kiss you if you weren’t so emotionally distraught, and I know it’s not the right time, but — but I just wanted to tell you.”

“What?” Nico asks, except he’s half-gone already.

“Sleep well, Nico,” Will says through a smile. “You deserve it.”

 

* * *

 

Nico later thinks that if he had recalled what had happened immediately upon waking up, he would not have felt as peaceful as he had. As it is, he’s basically cat-like when he awakens, surrounded by Will’s scent, citrusy and fresh with just a little depth. 

He turns his head and sees that there’s a sticky note on the bedside table. _At the auditorium if you’re wondering_ , it says, signed by Will and a smiley face. Will — shit. Nico springs up from the bed and he must look like a hot mess except he doesn’t care because he needs to murder Will.

He stuffs the note inside his, pulls his coat and hat on, and marches to the auditorium. It maybe a snowy East Coast college campus, but he feels like he’s in the Wild West — the paths are completely empty in the darkness and unnaturally quiet and he’s so charged, he could probably single-handedly light up every lamppost in sight.

There’s a satisfying thud to his footsteps when he swings the door to the auditorium open and walks in. He can hear a faint clang come for high up, then a rapid clatter of footsteps as Will comes down.

“Uh, Nico, hi,” Will says when he comes into view, gradually making his way to Nico.

“Hi,” Nico says. His voice is fortunately cool, but he can feel the back of his neck heating up very quickly.

“So —”

“Look, mistletoe,” Nico says, points upwards indiscriminately.

“What?” Will says, bewildered. “I’m sorry, I mean, are you sure —”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Nico interjects, then softens at Will’s concern. “I’m fine and I also like and would like to kiss you.”

“Oh,” Will says, turning bright red at an astronomical rate. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Nico glances at Will with a hint of smile peeking through his mouth that widens into a full-blown grin when Will smiles back, and Nico thinks the solar system can fit inside his ribcage right now.

“I — I mean, yeah,” Will says, then finally steps towards Nico and brings his hands up to Nico’s face.

“Your face is cold,” Will mumbles and he’s so close that Nico could get cross-eyed staring at the faded freckles that blend into the skin on his nose, his cheek, his brow bone.

“Well, maybe you can warm it up for me,” Nico shoots back. His voice is considerably less steady than it was before. He might also be trembling a bit.

Will laughs at that and goddamn, it’s beautiful, but Nico’s also impatient so he tilts his chin down and kisses him and — it’s not Nico’s first kiss and it doesn’t seem like it’s Will’s first kiss but there’s a naivety to it that makes it so much more precious, the way Nico’s lips hit Will’s chin first, how they’re grinning so hard their cheeks hurt.

Will pulls away, and his face smooths out into a more playful expression, the quirk of his brow making Nico shiver. He leans in slower this time and fits their lips perfectly together, and Nico’s so nervous he licks his bottom lips, except Will’s mouth opens up, and yeah. Yeah, that’s better.

Nico takes his time enjoying the friction between his chapped lips and Will’s smoother ones, drawing a hitched breath out of him when he bites down. Will starts to move away from Nico’s mouth, leaving kisses across his jaw, making his way to the juncture between his pulsepoint. At that point, it takes all of Nico’s strength not to fall to the floor and if Nico thought he was panting before, he has another thing coming to him, because Will is merciless, alternating between using his teeth to set Nico on fire, then laving his tongue over to sooth the spot, and it’s slightly obscene and Nico loves it.

It gets even better when Nico tentatively puts his hands in Will’s hair, tugging slightly to make Will’s mouth go slack against his skin. It feels electric, having this much control. When Will finally leans back to survey his work, he looks so pleased that Nico kisses him again, sloppy and bright and uncoordinated.

“Wait, so you’ll go out with me?” Will asks breathlessly as he pulls away.

“I think that’s a given,” Nico says, still charmed that Will asked. “But after this debauchery?”

“I think we’ll manage,” Will says with a laugh, moving to rest his forehead against Nico’s.

“Yeah,” Nico replies, “yeah, I think we will.”

 

* * *

 

At the first rehearsal of the second semester, when Nico and Will walk in holding hands, there is an immediate outroar — a mixture of cheering and outraged shouting erupts, and Nico swears he can see money changing hands. Either way, it's very loud.

Amidst the uproar, someone yells, "Couldn't you have waited another month to get your shit together?" which confirms Nico's suspicions.

At this, Will turns and hides his grin in the crook of Nico's neck, and Nico will never get used to that, but that's fine because he's grinning too.

**Author's Note:**

> various notes from the document while i was writing and editing this:  
> • nico being corn is a reference to when triptolemus turned him into corn when the gang was in venice. that scene was fun.  
> • me, when i receive my pulitzer: go watch b99  
> • me? projecting my issues with my father? it's more likely than you think!  
> • before you ask: nico impulsively booking a flight is indeed the equivalent of shadow-travelling  
> • can you tell i have no experience with anything happening here because i have no experience with anything happening here  
> • (approx 14k in) jesus lord release from this fresh hell when will this end


End file.
